


Play the Game Tonight

by VulcanicEruption



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:29:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulcanicEruption/pseuds/VulcanicEruption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>You think that something's happening</i>
    <br/>
    <i>And it's bigger than your life</i>
    <br/>
    <i>But it's only what you're hearing</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Will you still remember</i>
    <br/>
    <i>When the morning light has come</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Will the songs be playing over and over</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Till you do it all over again</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Play the Game Tonight

His first kiss with a man made him feel sixteen again. A multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent overrode the memories attached, but the sensation remained ground deep within him: wide-eyed, soft, small and bushy-tailed. Plenty capable, sure. Plenty lethal. He’d always been. But so much less calloused. He didn’t acknowledge it at the time, with the shock of angel’s lips so softly against his own, but it was an idea that would worm its way into his head later on: the angel was sloughing off all of his layers to leave him fresh and smooth again. 

He didn’t know what a kiss felt like, all over again—it stunned him into submissive silence and swept his head clean and swept the years away. Dean knew Cas, but suddenly he was being pinned down by Castiel, pinned against a brick wall in a way that was so eerily familiar, being sucked mercilessly inside of a supernova. Was that accurate? Did supernovas ever suck? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. And when it was all over, he didn’t want to. But in the moment of, his sphere narrowed into parted lips that played on his tongue and his own slack-jawed mouth. And once he’d gotten his bearings his own tongue snaked out of its own accord. He tasted his breath, tossed and writhed a steaming slick animal through their jaws.Their tongues wrestled and wrapped for a moment before they parted again, Castiel severing the connection with a firm hand on the shoulder. Pushing him, back. Onto the bricks again. 

Dean’s voice pitched into a roar. “What the hell, Cas?” 

They were standing just feet away from one another in a cramped brick room, minutes and minutes after It happened, standing as far away from one another as was possible. 

“I just—” Cas broke off in a deep sigh. He tilted his head down and to the side in that habitual way of his, and then he peered back at Dean again with a look of frustration, concern. “I wanted this on our terms.” 

“On our—” Dean choked on the words. He rubbed his jaw, scoffed, his intestines breakdancing at the behest of the anxiety taking hold of his body. He ignored it, pushed it down. “That was out of line, man, I can’t … that was … totally unnecessary! Alright?” He stepped away from the wall, both arms held out in utter incredulity, staring at Cas with his chin raised and jaw set. “I mean, how can you even think that that’d be okay?” 

Did his voice break on that last word? He wasn’t sure, probably his anxiety and imagination concocting a humiliating lie. Even so, Cas would catch all of it, whether or not it showed in his face or his voice. 

“Do you know where we are?” Cas asked, sidestepping the question with another question. He was looking levelly across the room at Dean, unreadable. 

“Of course I don’t—” The snippets of memory sprang to mind. He remembered a diner. Him and Cas; Sam was at the bunker, probably jacking off to dusty research. They’d gotten into it with some probably-demons-possibly-something-equally-crappy a few minutes later, just outside of the diner’s doors. There was blood, of course, and a little light. His recollection cut out from there. And then the hazy wake in a dim brick room with sooty floorboards. “—and if you do, if you can get us out of here at any moment, so help me I will—”

“Will what, Dean?” Cas’s mouth twisted into something unfamiliar, slightly sinister. “Do you not want to leave?”

“I want to get out, now.” He crossed his arms. “Do you?” 

“We’re in a basement,” Cas replied, ignoring the question again. “I think demons. Or … Kamadeva. Possibly both.” 

“Kamadeva,” Dean echoed. He gave a disbelieving little grunt. “And demons. Lay this one on me …” 

“It’s a certain smell, I …” Cas sighed again. “I’ve never dealt with him or his area up close, but there’s a certain sweetness underneath all of the sulphur that is definitely familiar.” 

Kamadeva, Hindu god of love. Love and demons didn’t seem to be a coupling that made a whole lot of sense, obviously, but perhaps he was on to something. Something about the idea was one part relief, two parts fear that snaked around in Dean’s stomach. Dean wondered if his digestion was doomed to be the emotional center of his body. Of course it was. 

Needless to say the relief faded when he remembered what had happened minutes ago, and what Cas had said: _On our terms_. There was no hope in that statement of a Kamadeva-crazed delusion. No possession and no possibility of a false romance under Love Potion No. 9. It was just wrong, fuck-all, sick and wrong and … Dean Winchester was disgusted with himself. Confused and tainted and disgusted with himself. Tainted by the unholy feelings of cleanliness and light that had coursed through him for just a moment. 

He never had time to reply, because a second later the door opened and dull light poured into the room. The bricks slid out and to the side, a hidden entrance, and through the opening marched in several completely average-looking people.

* * *

A husky woman and several reedy men stormed into the room. Dean squinted against the glare as he and Cas were manhandled into the next chamber, a dusty broad storeroom empty but for a single chair. There was nothing, in his experience, more ominous than a single chair.

He thrashed and roared in the hands of a surprisingly strong, weasel-faced young man. Head over heels, literally, then right side up again, lying flat on the floor facing the tiled ceiling. There was a rough _whump_ as Cas landed on the ground next to him, a slight _whoosh_ of air on Dean's side.

He was still buzzing, tingling, from the kiss. God, how fruity was that? He winced, hating himself in the most visceral, typical, Winchester way possible. Dean Winchester did not tingle. 

The air grew sticky, humid, and unbearably warm when the door wheezed open. Dean's eyes flicked back and forth but he didn't move, feeling the eyes of the demons on him. (They had to be. They were rank). There was no sign of anyone new ... 

Dean lay, frozen, for several seconds before he remembered himself. With a grunt he lifted himself up to a sitting position and glanced over at Cas, lying listless on the ground. There was an odd expression on the angel's face that Dean didn't recall having seen before--his blue eyes were trained on a point just behind Dean's head. 

Of course he swiveled. He swiveled on the spot, ready to leap ready to fight, to kill at any moment; he swiveled to find a lean, chiseled young man caressing the bulge in his crotch.

Now, listen--it wasn't that much of a bulge. It was a fluke. Let's make that straight first.

 _Straight. You're hilarious._ That was Sam, in his head. Fuck, Dean had problems. But that wasn't the issue right now.

This man's face was inches from his, and it was dark green and smooth and fucking _pretty,_ it made Dean look downright masculine. He was willing to admit it (for the sake of distraction, if nothing else). The guy had strong, even features and defined, thick black eyebrows, set against skin the color of jade with lips that were plump and dark. He was shirtless, toned, and wore loose harem pants that strained over a massive erection.

Dean wondered if that was his doing, or if it was the eternal state of a love god.

The air around them hung with a sweet scent that emanated from his skin, his hair, his bow and arrows lying abandoned on the ground beside him. The young man leaned back and sprawled, stretched out his legs to straddle Dean's waist. His hands didn't reach for Dean, however--for a moment Dean relaxed, even as his muscles strained for him to leave. He sat frozen in place. He tensed again, motionless, lips parted ever so slightly as Kamadeva reached down to tug at the wasit of his dark violet pants.

He stroked, then pumped, harder, staring into Dean's eyes the whole time, biting his lip with the intensity. A wild grin spread across his face--he gave one short, bark of a laugh--and he reached out with one hand towards Dean. 

Dean, frozen. Lips still parted. A rasping sound rising from his chest, slipping in a swift "Cas" from his mouth. He couldn't see the angel from this angle, but pictured those wide blue eyes in his mind. 

Another short laugh. "Relax," the young man breathed. He pulled his pants back up and stood, towering over the two of them. "You're not here to be voyeurs."

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _And when the curtains open_   
>  _To the roaring of the crowd_   
>  _You will feel it all around you_   
>  _Then it finally happens_   
>  _And it's all come true for you_   
>  _And the songs are playing over and over_   
>  _Till you do it over again_   
> 


End file.
